Do you ever wish that you could snap your fingers and conjure up a cafe table on the sunny side of the street so that you could transport and continue your conversation there instead of where it is? I was walking to the train and said hello to the friendly guy who I always see walking his dogs at that time of the morning (I know he is friendly because he always says hello to me. Or “good morning” or “Nice dress!” Unfriendly people, like barflys, do not care for morning pleasantries and certainly do not care to comment on your sartorial choices). He said hello and we had a moving conversation. Literally, and I don't mean that in an "I-actually-mean-figurative-but-have-a-very-small-vocabulary" way. I mean that neither of us actually stopped walking and so we were both physically and literally moving in the same direction. And after a few ooohhh it’s so cold nows and where did the spring goes, he said “I know! Jason and I were in Indy with the baby and it’s so warm there now!” Who’s Jason? I don't know. What baby? I don’t know that either! I only know he has two dogs and is very friendly and has admired my pink sheath dress. And THAT is when I thought that we really have waited long enough for teleportation. Willy Wonka did it with a chocolate bar ages ago, there is no reason we cannot have it today, in 2014. So I’m writing this letter while I’m on hold with NASA. I’ll let you know what happens.
A couple of things I’ve discovered recently:
1. Do not, however well-intentioned your intentions may be, tell a woman that from the back, she looks like Thomas Jefferson. It won’t matter that you don’t mean in a philosophical, you-could-have-signed-the-Declaration-of-Independence kind of way. You’ll find yourself having to assure her that you don’t think she’s a man from 1776 and then you’ll try to explain that you just mean her hair is really thick and if she pulls it back in just the right way...and now it sounds like you’re saying she looks like she’s wearing a wig. Nothing good is going to come after that. Especially if you are on a bus.
2. It’s very easy to make a bad bloody mary. And it’s very bad to make an easy bloody mary. I don’t know where that’s going and I’m afraid we are all going to end up staring into a mirror and chanting like 14 year-olds, so let’s just leave it at vodka.
Now, one last thing. I know you said that you were adamant about not wearing red to a wedding but I’m still trying to figure out what an aging pop star from 1985 has to do with nuptials of any sort. Can you clarify?